Quiet Night
by cmr2014
Summary: What Vash wants is to be alone in the quiet night. What he gets might just be what he needs.


DISCLAIMER: Trigun and its characters belong to Yasuhiro Nightow.

 **Quiet Night**

The hard part was over, the battle fought and won. The even harder part of burying the dead on both sides was done, and those too wounded to walk were now in hospital.

The rest had gathered at the saloon, because a battle as intense as this one had been doesn't spare even the physically intact. It was going to take time for them to realize alcohol couldn't heal psychic trauma. In the meantime, they would mistake anesthetic for cure.

That was…not well and good, just how such things went. Vash the Stampede was familiar with it; he had discovered the hard way that all liquor held for him was cost without reward. He found better ways to pay the butcher's bill only because diving into the bottle after his first battles had accomplished nothing.

Give them time. They would learn.

Vash wished people would also just learn that life is hard enough without making yourself part of the problem.

Sticking to the cover of night, he patiently moved away from the saloon, stilling at the presence of the occasional passerby to avoid being seen. He didn't feel very much like interacting; it would require either pretending to be celebratory in victory or explaining why he was saddened at all the dead, when more bandits had been killed than townsfolk. He had no wish to do either.

So he moved in the dark, careful to keep each step light and quiet, until he was far enough away from the saloon that he was at no risk of meeting anyone else. Leaned on a hitching post at the edge of a building, just inside its shadow, looking out away from town at the desert. The sandy scape was silver in the light of the moons.

When were people going to figure it out? If they didn't all start helping each other get to the future, then pretty soon none of them would get there.

He sighed, forcing a fist to unclench and rub at his tired eyes. Humankind had so much potential; why were they so resistant to rising to it?

Footsteps. His hand went to his gun, hovering there.

The steps were light, the scent that carried in the air familiar.

Vash moved his hand from his gun. It was Meryl, not a threat.

The short insurance girl continued into the moonlight, waving an arm in signal. His nod told her he saw her, she wouldn't startle him by approaching. Her dark hair was ruffled by a dry breeze before it merged into the shadow as she joined him. She had a bottle in each hand, holding one out to him in offering. He took it with another nod of acknowledgement.

Meryl opened her mouth to speak, but Vash was quick to shush her, just a finger barely touching over her lips. Her jaw closed. She looked as Vash waved a hand out across the desert, and took his meaning – just enjoy the moment.

They raised the bottles in silent toast and drank in unison. Hard cider; he wasn't surprised. Meryl disdained hard liquor and it was his bet she thought beer too bitter. But something sweet like this? Yes, this was an alcohol he could see her going for.

The cool liquid felt good washing away the dryness, and he tried to smile his thanks. But he was still upset and it came out wrong, he could tell. Even in the dark, he could make out the disconcerted look in Meryl's eyes.

What would he say? How could he explain he felt the whole human race was his extended family, and it just killed him when they killed each other over reasonable things and stupid things alike?

He just didn't say anything. Took a long drink.

He felt the bottle being tugged back down. Meryl shook her head – frustration? Amusement? Hard to tell, perhaps a bit of both.

Her thumb went to his mouth, brushing away a drop of cider that was running down.

It was impossible not to feel her warmth as her palm cupped his cheek, thumb stroking it the way one would a child's to comfort them, to say it was ok. Vash couldn't help tilting his head further into it. It felt nice, to be so gently touched after a day where the softest thing he could remember was a forearm to the throat.

It was strange to feel as he did around her. And when had it started? When had the annoying insurance girl become more than an annoying insurance girl? Without his knowing it, she seemed to have slipped past his defenses and rewritten them to contain her.

Startled by this thought, Vash reached up and took her hand away. He meant to put it back at her side, but nothing was ever that easy with Meryl Stryfe. The two hands instead wound up tangling until they were clasped together, fingers interlaced.

Head cocked, he experimentally shook their joined hands to see if they would loosen. No, they stayed tight, as Meryl watched with an amused smile. She stilled his efforts, her other hand settling on top of their hopelessly interlocked fingers.

Now her smile wasn't so much amused as simply tranquil, as she moved closer to him, discarding her bottle on the post. Vash felt the slight pressure as she made contact, her body pressing against his.

For all his antics, he'd never actually been in a situation like this with a woman before, where it was just him and her. He'd always thought his heart would beat itself out of its chest at a time like this.

But it didn't. Oddly, it slowed. He was relaxing at the feel of her, the tension and trauma of the day's events seeping away.

He wondered for a brief moment when she had become his calming influence. Then her head was fully nestled against him, her free arm was going around his back, and Vash just settled into it, letting go. He set aside his own bottle and put his arm around her as well, hand going under her cape and fitting against the small of her back.

With Meryl, everything else faded away. The problems were still there, but in her embrace he knew everything would eventually be ok.

While a segment of the human race struggled to sort itself out in the saloon, Vash found himself content to go for a walk in the quiet desert night with Meryl.


End file.
